


sing the tune without the words

by polkadot



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polkadot/pseuds/polkadot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six times Serena tried to help Caro get over Rory, and one time she succeeded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sing the tune without the words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlerhymes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerhymes/gifts).



i.

“My Internet history looks really suspicious right now,” Serena said, by way of greeting.

Caro blinked. She had just stepped into Serena's apartment, and Chip was happily running around her legs. She dropped down absentmindedly to pet him. “Really? Why?”

“Because I've been looking up how to commit untraceable murder,” Serena said, looking quite serious. “Maid of honor responsibility.”

It seemed like simultaneously yesterday and a year ago that Rory had called to tell Caro, out of the blue, that not only weren't they as blissfully happy as she'd thought they were, but that in fact he no longer wanted to marry her. Forget that the wedding invitations had just gone out, forget that Serena was planning the bachelorette party, forget everything. He'd found someone new, oops. He'd tried to be flattering and told her she'd find a new boyfriend in no time, because she had a great body, but that hadn't really helped. She kinda wanted to tear his nads off with her fingernails at the moment.

An impulse Serena apparently shared. “Did you find out how yet?”

“No,” Serena said, regretfully. “Though there was this interesting story about how a king of England got killed once by someone shoving a red-hot poker up his ass. I could shove a red-hot tennis racket up his ass.”

Now that was a mental picture Caro didn't need in her head. “Maybe we should just let him stew in his own misery.”

“He doesn't seem nearly miserable enough to me,” Serena said, frowning. “I signed his email up for all the spam I could find. Was that okay?”

Caro collapsed onto Serena's couch and grinned up at her. “That,” she said, scratching Chip under the chin, “was very much okay.”

~

ii.

“So,” Serena said, the next morning, after handing Caro a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice, “I was thinking. Instead of being in charge of your bachelorette party, I'm going to be in charge of your post-breakup with Him Who Must Not Be Named.”

“Ice cream and Pink?” Caro asked. She wasn't necessarily opposed to either. Once upon a time she'd thought she'd be a singer, if the tennis thing didn't work out, and she could still do a mean rendition of 'So What'.

Serena shook her head. “Bikinis, cocktails, shopping, and beaches. We're going to have so much fun, you won't think of that bastard one time.”

“I like 'that bastard' better than 'him who must not be named',” Caro said. It had a satisfying ring to it. “Basically, we're going to have 'who needs men' weekend?”

Serena grinned. “Exactly. Who needs men, anyway? Too much trouble and maintenance.”

Caro could think of a few things men were useful for. But they could be useful for that without emotional commitment. And in the meantime, bikinis and cocktails sounded pretty damn wonderful.

“I think I want a new bikini,” she said, sipping her orange juice. Serena must have mastered her juicer at last – usually she had people to do it for her, but today they were all by themselves. It was relaxing, in a world where usually she was surrounded by a team. “That bastard bought me the ones I have now.” The nickname made her laugh, nearly snorting orange juice up her nose, in contrast to the first night, when there had been a lot of tears and cursing of all things Rory.

“Definitely,” Serena said. “We can combine shopping with bikinis! Perfect.” She rapped her fingernails on the counter, rhythmically. “We probably shouldn't go shopping _in_ bikinis, though. That'd be a bit too much.”

“We could carry it off,” Caro said. “You and me, we could carry off anything.”

Serena laughed. “I think we could.”

~

iii.

“That,” Caro said, devoutly, “was fantastic.”

It was Day Two of what Caro had begun thinking of as Serena's “Weekend to Make Caro Forget That Bastard”, and it had been a whirl. They'd gone to the beach in their new bikinis, laughed and splashed, had cocktails, and just generally had a whale of a time. Caro had won the holding-your-breath contest, but Serena had been able to tread water for longer. And the play-wrestling that followed had taken Caro right back to childhood, carefree and easy and sun-kissed.

Afterwards she'd lain out in the sun and listened to Serena's stories about her ridiculous second cousins, and Chip's dog-groomer's boyfriend. Serena's stories were always funny, told with gusto and full of detail, and Caro had laughed along, letting herself live in the moment and forget everything else. That had been even easier to do when they'd made it to dinner – this restaurant's food was absolutely delicious, though their lighting was a bit too low for her tastes.

Serena groaned. “I'm going to have to do an extra hour on the court tomorrow to pay for it.”

“We'll do it together,” Caro said, trying to keep a straight face.

Serena's eyes widened comically. “Not running! Not the marathon thing again! Girl, you can be crazy if you want, but I am _not_ running a marathon with you. For one thing, my team would kill me. That's not good cross-training. And even if they let me, I am not into the running thing. Not at all.”

“The marathon can be my thing,” Caro said, losing her battle with her grin. “I like running. And, you know, my November opened up.” She'd rather have a marathon to train for and look forward to than spend the entirety of November thinking about the wedding that was supposed to have happened that month.

“That bastard,” Serena said, with feeling. “I'll come and cheer you on, how's that? As long as you don't make me run.”

“I won't make you run,” Caro said, and looked at the dessert menu. “Cheesecake?”

“Two hours,” Serena said, but didn't say no.

~

iv.

Caro had been trying to be quiet, but the sound of movement outside her door told her that she hadn't been successful. It creaked open.

“I'm okay,” she said, holding back a sniffle. “Really. Go back to bed.”

They'd had a late night, watching a movie and talking over Serena's favorite cocktails, and she'd stayed in Serena's guest room. That would have been fine if her traitorous brain hadn't made her dream of Rory, and wake up in tears. The walls weren't solid enough, apparently.

“You're not okay,” Serena said. She was wearing a robe over something lacy and pink, and slippers. Caro had never seen her like this before; she looked softer, somehow, without her day face on. “It's normal to cry. It's okay to cry.”

“I just don't _want_ to cry,” Caro said, twisting her fingers in the duvet. “He doesn't deserve my tears. He's a bastard – who cheats on their fiancee and then tells her the week the invitations go out?”

“A bastard,” Serena said, padding over in her slippers and sitting down next to Caro on the bed. 

“Who tells her in a _phone call_?” Caro asked, feeling the tears welling up again.

“A bastard,” Serena said, and slipped an arm around Caro's shoulders, drawing her close. “Let it out. It's okay. I've got you.”

“I don't want to cry for him,” Caro said. “He's not worth it.” 

Even as she said it, though, she dropped her head to Serena's shoulder. Serena's arms were comforting around her, and she felt warm and safe. It probably wasn't fair to wake up your friend in the middle of the night and then cry into her shoulder and ruin a very nice nightgown, but Serena wasn't going away. If anything, she was holding her tighter. 

“You're not crying for him,” Serena said, her voice soothing and yet with an edge of barb to it, the lingering 'that bastard' tone she'd been using all weekend. It helped. “You're crying for the future you had planned. It's different. And probably you're crying for the happiness you had.”

“I was happy,” Caro admitted. Her nose had to be cold against Serena's skin, but Serena didn't seem to notice. “I was really happy, damn him.”

“But you can be happy without him,” Serena said. “You know you can. You were happy before him, and you'll be happy again. You're a naturally happy person.”

“You make it sound like I'm some sort of happiness junkie,” Caro said, and either laughed or hiccuped, she wasn't entirely sure.

“Well,” Serena said, rubbing a slow circle between her shoulder-blades, “if the shoe fits...”

This time Caro did laugh, even if it was a little weak. They sat in silence together for a little while; Caro curled up in Serena's arms, her feet staying warm under the covers, and Serena leaned back against the pillows. It was peaceful, there in the 4am darkness, and gradually Caro began to feel a little less like bawling her eyes out, and a little more like she was going to be okay.

~

v.

“Do you think my tennis will be better without Rory?” Caro asked, the next day.

“That bastard,” Serena said, automatically, chopping up carrots with a practiced hand. They'd trained that morning, and now they were back in the apartment. 

“That bastard,” Caro repeated, obediently. She knew she should have stayed off the Internet – nothing good ever came from reading your own press – but she'd succumbed in a moment of weakness that morning. She wasn't sure whether she was more nauseated at the outpouring of pity from all and sundry (sure, she was upset about the breakup, but it wasn't the end of the world!), or whether she was more upset at the insinuation that her tennis had been bad because she'd been in a relationship. Being happy didn't mean you couldn't play good tennis. Surely.

Serena paused her chopping. “I think your tennis is great, whoever you're dating.”

“It's just everyone seems to think he was a distraction, and that I'll play better on my own,” Caro said.

Serena snorted. “Fuck what everyone thinks. They aren't you. The media has to sell stories. They can by treating you like a poor little dumped angel, or they can do it by treating you like a dilettante romantic who put her relationship ahead of her career. Either way, it's all crap.”

“I do feel a bit like I have something to prove, though,” Caro admitted. “It would suck if my tennis was bad and Ro- that bastard went out and started winning everything.”

“Then prove it for yourself,” Serena said, handing her a bowl of salad. It had lots of cherry tomatoes on top, just the way Caro liked it. “You don't have to prove anything because of him. Play good tennis because you're a damn good tennis player. End of story.”

“You're a real sweetheart, do you know that?” Caro asked, as Serena sat down across from her. “You've been so good to me this weekend.”

Serena waved it away. “What are friends for?”

“No, really,” Caro persisted. “Cocktails, bikinis, the beach, dinner, shopping, dancing – everything. Even orange juice and salad! You've really taken care of me.”

“Well, somebody should,” Serena said. Her eyes were soft, like they'd been last night.

~

vi.

“She should never have stayed in that house,” Caro said, with conviction. 

She'd started out the night sitting next to Serena on the sofa, but as the movie had progressed – and the creepy music had got more and more creepy – she'd inched closer and closer. If she'd ended up hiding her face in Serena's shoulder more than once, Serena hadn't said a word, just slipped an arm around her and let her cuddle up close. It was only fair, since Serena had been the one to insist they watch a suspense movie with all the lights out. Something about it being the only right way.

“I know,” Serena said, next to her. In the dim light filtering through the curtains from the street below, her features were indistinct. “If my house starts making creepy noises in the middle of the night, I'm getting a big-ass kitchen knife, then grabbing Chip and running like the wind.”

“An exception to the no-running rule?” Caro asked, laughing. She supposed she should move away now that the movie was over, but sitting tucked up next to Serena was comfortable. And Chip was curled up half on her lap – she didn't want to disturb his beauty sleep.

“I'd run so fast, even Monfils couldn't catch me,” Serena said, decidedly.

“Me too,” Caro said, and they smiled at each other.

She hadn't really thought about Rory all day. When she probed the wound now, it was sore, but it wasn't the aching hole it had been even yesterday. Serena's weekend had been a success, Caro thought; looking ahead, she felt excited about the rest of the season to come, and all its possibilities, instead of dreading the never-ending prurient questions and the necessity of performing for the public while her personal life was in turmoil. Sure, she'd been happy, and then Rory'd been a bastard. But she shouldn't let the fact that Rory was a bastard ruin her own happiness – and Serena was right that she'd always been a very happy person, long before Rory came along. She was young, fit, talented, beautiful, smart, and she had a fantastic family and friends. The world was her oyster.

“You know,” she said, when the companionable silence lengthened, “this is almost like a date.”

“A date?” Serena said, smiling. “In our nightgowns, watching a scary movie, with a snoring dog on our laps?”

“Yes,” Caro said. “Spending time together, laughing together – it's exactly like a date.”

Serena shrugged. As close as they were, Caro felt the movement of her shoulder muscles. Serena really was fit. “If this was a date, there'd be a lot more kissing, I think.”

“Oh really?” Caro said. It was the work of a moment to turn her head and press a kiss to Serena's cheek. Serena wanted kissing? Serena would get kissing.

Except as she made her move, Serena turned _her_ head. 

They froze, noses awkwardly mashed together, lips half-touching. It wasn't a kiss, not really – but it was close enough that you couldn't call it anything _other_ than a kiss. They were pressed up against each other, Serena's arm around Caro's shoulders, snuggled close together; Caro's right boob was smushed against Serena's left, and if she hadn't really been aware of that before, she certainly was now.

Caro knew she should pull back, make a joke, laugh it off. It would be fine. What was an accidental kiss between friends? 

But something, somehow, stopped her. Something made her tilt her head, breaking their awkward lip-smush and turning it into a real kiss, chaste but sweet. Something made her bring a shy hand up to Serena's shoulder, resting it there in silent question.

Something made Serena breathe against her lips - and then, as naturally as if they kissed all the time, Serena's lips were opening under hers, her mouth tasting like the strawberries they'd had for dessert.

If Caro had been asked before that weekend if it would have ended up with the two of them making out on Serena's sofa, she would have laughed. It would have been a ridiculous idea. Serena was her friend – an important, close, beloved friend, but nothing more. Sure, Caro knew that she was attracted to girls too, even if she'd never acted on that attraction, but Serena dated men, and had never given the slightest sign that she was anything but straight.

Until now.

Caro knew intellectually that this was a bad idea. She'd just broken up with Rory – that bastard – and she had no experience with girls. (She doubted if Serena did either, if the shy way she kissed was any guide. Serena wasn't shy.) Her friendship with Serena wasn't something she wanted to risk – and yet she couldn't stop herself, couldn't pull herself away. Her blood was singing in her ears, and Serena's mouth against hers – Serena's body against hers – was everything she wanted, everything...

“No,” Serena said, pulling away. “No, we can't.” 

She sounded as wrecked as Caro felt, voice breathless and cheeks flushed. Caro hardly registered the words at first, drinking in the sight of a well-kissed Serena, well-kissed by _her_ , which made her stomach spin dizzily.

“Why?” she asked, when the words did register, although of course she could think of a million reasons why. None seemed to matter, though, not with Serena still so close.

Serena swallowed. “Because,” she said, softly, “I'm not going to be your rebound.”

Again, the words took a second to register. Not, 'I'm straight'. Not, 'you're straight'. Not, 'I'm not attracted to you.' Not so many things they could have been.

Caro, feeling daring, reached down and threaded their fingers together. “That's not a no. That's a 'not right now'.”

“You and Rory just broke up,” Serena said, not pulling away. “I don't want to have one night that we regret in the morning. You need time to get over him. Time to get used to being single again.”

As intoxicating as that kiss had been, Caro knew she was right. “Yes,” she admitted. “I do.”

“I'm not,” Serena said, and bit her lip. Caro's eyes followed, her stomach lurching again. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“How long is long enough?” Caro asked, because you didn't get anywhere without being a bit pushy and knowing what you wanted. “How much time is enough time?”

“You'll know that yourself,” Serena said, and rubbed her thumb gently across Caro's palm. “I'll be here.”

~

i.

After Caro made the final of the US Open, she knocked on Serena's door.

“Shouldn't you be getting ready for tomorrow?” Serena asked, letting her in. “Big date. I'll be sure to come and watch.”

“Shut up,” Caro said, laughing. “I'll give you a good match.”

She'd had a good tennis year, and played some fabulous tennis. Finishing it off with only her second Grand Slam final – and her first in five years – was wonderful. Win or lose tomorrow, she was damn proud of what she'd accomplished. 

Her road to the trophy, however, led through the woman in front of her, and Caro wasn't naïve enough to think that the match would be easy. Serena was _Serena_ , the most dominant player in women's tennis. 

But Serena was also Serena, the woman who would instantly drop all of her plans to console a heartbroken friend, the woman who brought cocktails and laughter and joy into Caro's life, the woman who was amazing at selfies and brilliantly funny in texts, the woman who had climbed into her bed to hold her while she cried for a future that wasn't going to happen. 

“You said that I'd know when it had been long enough,” Caro said, without preamble.

“We're playing the US Open final tomorrow,” Serena pointed out. “You don't want to wait until after?”

“No,” Caro said, and took a step towards her, and then another, watching the softness in Serena's eyes. “No, I don't want to wait another second.”

“Well, then,” Serena said, and leaned back against the wall, letting Caro come into her arms as naturally as if they'd done this a million times. “I suppose playing a Grand Slam final against my girlfriend won't be any harder than playing one against my best friend.”

Caro slipped a hand behind her neck, bringing their foreheads together. “You suppose.”

In the months since Rory, they'd been good friends. The best of friends. But Caro knew – and she knew that Serena knew too – that they were always going to end up here. The seed that been planted on that magical weekend had taken root and grown, and now – at last – it had finally blossomed.

“I suppose,” Serena repeated, her eyes dancing, and pulled Caro into a kiss that rapidly became much filthier than Caro remembered. 

Caro didn't mind. She shivered in delight and gave back as good as she got, pressing Serena into the wall and deepening the kiss herself. They had a lot of months of waiting to make up, after all.

“Bed,” Serena panted, and they stumbled their way down the hall, firmly shutting the bedroom door to bar an indignant Chip, who no doubt considered himself a matchmaker. 

As they tumbled into bed together, Caro already shimmying out of her skirt and Serena pulling her top off, one fact became inescapably clear: win or lose tomorrow, they'd already won.

~

Afterwards, Caro traced the powerful muscles of Serena's arm, which her girlfriend had flung across her stomach. The goosebumps stood out, and Caro ran her fingers over them lightly.

Serena lifted her head, resting her chin on Caro's hipbone. It was poky, but Caro didn't feel like complaining.

They smiled at each other. 

“Winner buys the drinks after the match,” Serena said, her voice full of something bright.

Caro pulled her up into a kiss.

~


End file.
